


Anthem for the Dead

by DarkSide (Dark_Side)



Series: Salt in the open wounds [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Boyking Sam, Demon Dean Winchester, Gen, POV Second Person, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 10:35:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17098985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Side/pseuds/DarkSide
Summary: Cas could not save Dean nor Sam and now he lives as a prisoner in Hell.He knows it was his mistake that derailed Dean's and Sam's lives and he will try to make what he can to set everything right.Narration: second person POv (Castiel)





	Anthem for the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes about the AU of this FF:
> 
> 1\. Dean was not saved at the end of Season 3, now he is a Demon working in Hell.  
> 2\. Sam became the Boyking at the end of Season 4 and now rules Hell.  
> 3\. Cas tried to do his job but failed and is kept prisoner in Hell, because Dean liked his stubbornness.  
> 4\. Cas knows what person Dean could have been, if Cas had saved him.  
> 5\. Narration: Second Person Pov (Castiel)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural nor its characters. I only used them for fun.

**Anthem for the Dead**

_There is nothing left of you_  
_I can see it in your eyes_  
_Sing the Anthem of the Angels_  
_And say the last goodbye_  
  
_\- Breaking Benjamin,_  
_Anthem of the Angels_  
  


 

The room is dark as the hallways you have come through.  
“Why are you here?” His voice startles you, but you try not to show your surprise. You have not seen him yet, but following his voice you find him. He sits on the floor, showing off he can stay there and fear nothing, his precious Swiss Army Knife in one hand and eyes full of pitch black nothingness. There is dark blood on him. The throne in the background is empty but you know it does not mean anything.  
“Have you lost your tongue?” He asks again because you have failed to answer his first question.  
“Oh, no. I haven’t cut it off yet.” His voice is calm and cold even though you bet his breath is as hot as Hell. He chuckles but there is no emotion in it.  
There is silence for a while, in which you stare at him, looking for something that reminds you of him. He has not yet looked at you.  
“Why are you here?” He asks again, and he demands an answer. He raises his gaze on you. A sly smile bends his lips, but it is so empty.  
“You’re really so naïve you think _that_ is going to work on me?” He looks at you in disbelief, but he does not care. You can still feel he does not care. You look at your sleeves, where what is left of your blade is hidden, then raise your blue eyes on him and shake your head.  
“It’s an old habit.” Your hands are trembling and you tight them in fists and press them against your sides to stop them.  
“A bad one. But you learnt not to use it.” You nod and keep at bay the memories of awful, painful, and hope-shattering old fights.  
Silence falls again, and you know his patience is wearing thin.  
“I miss you.” You murmur.  
“What?” He pretends he has not heard.  
“I miss you.” Your voice is steady, just a little desperate and you can feel your heart cracking a little more.  
“Oh, my little old sap.” He chuckles again but there is no happiness. You miss his laughter too.  
“So you wanna snuggle? Have some time together?” He mocks you as thousands of times before, still this time it hurts.  
“Such a cutie.” His sly smile grows bigger but there is so entertainment in it.  
“May I have it? Just some.” You beg, your voice quivers a little. You have never thought you could end up in such a situation, but now begging is not the lowest thing you would do. You never thought that time could change minds so much and so easily.  
He does not answer, while enjoying keeping you hanging.  
“Ask it again.” His sly smile is still there but it has no joy.  
“Please, I miss you. May I spend some time with you, please? We can do whatever you like. Torturing souls, killings, hanging out in a pub. Anything. Please.” You plead as required, your voice quivers at the right places, but you know it is not an act.  
He chuckles, seems delighted, but you feel there is nothing inside him.  
“May I have it please?” You ask, and he chuckles again.  
“You little old sap. Come here.” You move awkwardly and sit down next to him on the black steps that lead to the throne. He puts an arm around your shoulder and tightens a little. You lean on him and you feel his warmth creeping to you through the clothes. He is as hot as hell; were he still human, fever would have already killed him.  
“Thank you.” He caresses your shoulder with his knuckles, but it feels wrong.  
“Do you like your room? Bet you never had one in Heaven.”  
“It’s good. Thank you.”  
“You like how we make Hell anew? Easier to move around, less chaotic.” You nod and rest your head against his chest. You breathe his scent in, hoping for something that reminds you of him but there is nothing. Your hands still tremble a little and you tightly shut your eyes not to cry.  
He does not let go of his Swiss Army Knife but hugs you nonetheless.  
He shushes you even though you feel he does not care one way or another and it is hard not to cry. You miss him so much and all of this is plainly wrong. It hurts too much.  
He caresses your cheeks and your heart breaks a little more.  
You blade is in his left lung in a split second. He makes a low sound of surprise and opens his Swiss Army Knife ready to stick it in your head.  
You are quicker. You grab his hand and move your head aside. You can feel his laughter coming but you do not want to hear it again. You slit his throat open and kill the sound before it can start. He lets go of his knife and you stab him in the heart.  
He does not move, his body goes limp and you lay him gently on the floor. His empty pitch black eyes look at you in disbelief.  
“How?” He asks.  
You do not want to hear his fake empty voice anymore.  
You twist his Swiss Army Knife, his body goes rigid as he hisses and he is limp again. You feel clearly when he dies. Your heart shattering is the only sounds that goes with him.  
“I’m sorry.” You whisper. You kiss his forehead and close his lids for the last time. You have no time to mourn over him as you sense someone else has come in the room. You let go of him gently, collect your blade and his knife and stand up.  
He is next to the throne and looks coldly at you and the body on the floor.  
“You’ve killed him. Congrats. Now it should be my turn, right?” His voice is calm, sharp and cold. His lips are red of blood and you can feel the halo of dread and power that surrounds him. There is nothing of what you see that reminds you of him.  
“Condolences for the loss.” You say but you do not mean it.  
“You know he was only a tool. A good one. But I don’t care.” He smiles a little, and his gaze drifts away. He does it a lot, but it does not mean he is lost in his thoughts. You still remember the angels who tried to kill him long ago when he seemed lost in his mind and their dreadful, painful deaths.  
“You know you’re dying, don’t you? Hell’s crept inside you and it’s draining your life away.” He states as a matter-of-fact. He still does not look at you.  
“I could bring him back, what’s the point of your actions?” He claims.  
“You cannot.” You’ve made sure of it and the pain in your chest is the proof. He finally looks back at you, one eyebrow raised in confusion and disbelief.  
“It doesn’t matter. Ready to die?” He asks. You tighten you grip on the Swiss Army Knife and nod. Since the moment you first thought of this plan, you knew you would not have survived and you are ready.  
He sits down on his black, blooded throne and looks coldly at you.  
“Come.”  
You slowly approach him, you do not need to rush the end of your days. He does not smile anymore, but his attention is completely focused in you. He is using his power to check everything of you and you feel it getting inside you, painfully touching what is left of your grace, but it is painful also for him.  
You stop in front of him and he waits for your next move. You know this is the end of everything, but you do not care. You know he can kill you or hurt you in unspeakable ways without moving, but you know he will not.  
You are still holding the Swiss Army Knife and take a deep breath before slowly moving. He keeps looking at you, but he does not know how much this is going to hurt. He does not ask for your intention, but he waits for your next move.  
You stab your own shoulder and bite your lips not to scream. It hurts more than Hell and Heaven can do. The demon blood on the blade makes your grace riot and scream while you drag the Swiss Army Knife down to open your chest and set your life-energy free.  
You cannot see or hear anymore, but you feel the shock and surprise coming from the one sitting on the throne. The emotions feel hollow, but you do not care. The end is right around the corner.  
You are losing the grip on your vessel but there is still time to turn the blade around and simply falling forward. He cannot escape nor shift away, while he uses his power to protect himself from your life-energy. He is trapped under you and your burning grace for a couple of seconds. And that is all you need to re-shape your blade around the Swiss Army Knife and stab him in the heart. You cannot see him dying, but you feel it clearly.  
You slowly go back upon your feet and you know your time is running out in less than half a minute.  
You look at his empty pitch black eyes and you wish you could die right now because the pain is too much to bear. You close his lids, make sure they will not open the slightest. He seems peaceful for the first time in forever. You pick him up from the dark throne of blood and thorns and slowly walk to the other dead corpse.  
They grew on you while you were watching them, and you wish you had been faster and stopped them from becoming what is left in the hollow, cold Hell’s hall. You wish you could fix what is around you, but your shattered, bleeding heart knows better than hoping.  
You cannot reach the dead corpse on the floor as your legs give out and you crash on the fall. It hurts but it is not the reason of the tears rolling down your face. You hold tight on the corpse and drag him next to the other one. Finally, they look like what they should have always looked. You set their clothes right, brush their hair back till they look peaceful and asleep.  
You wish there were another way, something else for all of you, but there is nothing left anymore.  
You regret your choice, but you know you have not killed them: there was nothing left of them to kill.  
You look one last time at those who grew on you time ago. For a moment you think you can hear your sibling’s singing one last time, but you soon realise it is your voice singing an ancient anthem of mourning.  
You keep looking at the ones you should have protected better and, as a faint smile bends your lips, you let go of the last sparkle of your grace.  


_I keep holding on to you_  
_But I can’t bring you back to life_  
_Sing the Anthem of the Angels_  
_And Say the last goodbye_  
_You’re dead alive_  
  
_\- Breaking Benjamin,_  
_Anthem of the angels_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> I'm sorry for any mistakes I made, but I'm not a native speaker.  
> Let me know if you enjoyed (or not) the story!


End file.
